


Relevance

by JimIntoMystery



Series: Futility [4]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Delta Quadrant, Gen, The Borg, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimIntoMystery/pseuds/JimIntoMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exiled and lost in the Delta Quadrant, aboard a captured Borg ship, the crew of the <em>Hrunting</em> struggle to return to the front lines of the Federation/Borg war.  Along the way, they find an unexpected respite, meeting a friendly species that has managed to survive in the heart of Borg space.</p><p>Commander Kreighen finds himself at a crossroads.  He can abandon his duties to make the hopeless journey home, or he can warn Starfleet of a looming threat in defiance of his exile.  But there's a third, irresistable option: to seek out new life, where no one has gone before...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Borg cube looming in the viewscreen dwarfed his own ship. It didn't matter. Jake Kreighen felt alive. "Tactical report," he requested.

Lieutenant Tirava acknowledged. "Standard Borg cube," she began. "Sensors report 112,000 drones. At current speed they'll be within firing range of the other vessel in two minutes."

Kreighen nodded and looked to Ensign Jimenez. "Status of their engines?"

"Transwarp coil appears to be online, Commander." Jimenez didn't waste his breath; all of them knew there was only one component on that cube that mattered. For fifteen weeks the crew of the _Hrunting_ had been loping through space controlled by the Borg Collective. The shuttle and its crew had been properly inoculated against Borg assimilation before the Federation-led invasion began. But it would take two years at maximum warp to return to allied territory, and no one wanted to give the Collective that much time to try to overcome those defenses. So the top priority was a faster way out, and that meant exploiting the Borg's own transwarp technology. Already they had commandeered a probe ship--the "Albatross"--but not before its transwarp coil had suffered irreparable damage. And so they were on the hunt, scouring the region for another Borg ship to "assimilate."

"Moving to intercept," Kreighen announced as he punched the commands into his station. "Tirava, what have you got on the other guys?"

"Not much on the ship," the Andorian woman explained, "but according to Borg bio-readings, the crew is Species 1288. The Alyseans...humanoid, robust physiology, unremarkable technological distinctiveness, lavender pigmentation--"

Kreighen turned to her with a curious stare. 

Tirava realized her report didn't sound like it was coming from their Borg databases, and met his eyes. "I...assimilated one of them when I was a drone. They're refugees; their homeworld was overrun by the Collective three hundred years ago."

He nodded slowly and looked away--he hated reminding her of her experience with the Borg, but avoiding it seemed impossible. "Well..." he stammered. "Try to remember whatever you can about them. If they've lasted this long in these parts, then they're the sort of people I'd like to meet." As if to change the subject, he tapped his commbadge. "Kreighen to Ijhel."

"Go ahead, Commander," she responded.

"We're about to engage a cube. Can we say hello to them yet?"

"Right _now?_ "

"Sorry, Doctor, should I ask them to postpone until next Tuesday?"

"Commander, I can rig this ship to send a hundred thousand signals to a hundred thousand drones all at once. But it will take _weeks_ to design a signal that can _say_ anything to them...at least, anything that will tap into their root command structure..."

" _Understood_ , Utana." Kreighen rolled his eyes as he cut her off. "Just open the channels, on my mark. I'll do the tapping."

Jimenez looked up from his station. "If you're planning on her creating a distraction, you'd better have something in mind that'll only take about five seconds."

"If we distract them _all_ , even for five seconds, they'll drop out of warp and lower their defenses." Kreighen explained. "Think you can beam Ajax directly into the transwarp chamber?"

"Uhhh...depends on whether you can bring _us_ out of warp at the exact same time--"

"Piece of cake," the commander assured him. Nothing could shake him now. All the problems he and his crew had endured for the past six months were out of his mind. This battle would free him, however briefly, from the pressures of shepherding his crew. For a few minutes, he would simply be a maverick space jockey, finding new ways to beat the invincible Borg.

"Computer," he announced, "activate Sergeant--"

"Not yet, Commander!" Jimenez warned. "This trick will be hard enough with his holomatrix offline. I'll set his mobile emitter to activate once transport is complete."

"Agreed," Kreighen replied. Ajax was a highly sophisticated hologram, fully aware of their situation. Even without orders, he'd know as soon as he appeared in the transwarp chamber to grab the coil and get the hell out. 

"Entering communications range of the cube in thirty seconds," Tirava announced. 

Kreighen tapped his commbadge again. "All hands, prepare for attack on my mark." What followed was a cacophonous silence, as he eyed his console until those thirty seconds had elapsed. And then, finally... "Mark!"

At once, Doctor Ijhel sent thousands of Borg communication protocol signals to the drones of the enemy cube, causing the entire complement to immediately pause their duties for the briefest moment to formulate a response. The entire cube went into standby operations, falling out of high warp to drift in space until the situation was resolved. At that exact moment, Commander Kreighen threw the _Albatross_ into a dead stop, and Ensign Jimenez energized the transporter, sending Sergeant Ajax deep inside their target.

A second passed, and the antennae atop Tirava's head stiffened. "Commander, I can hear them...they've realized what's happened..."

" _Albatross_ to Ajax," Kreighen declared urgently through the comm system. "Ajax, respond." No answer. "Ajax, get the transwarp coil, there isn't much time!"

"Reading a massive power buildup in the cube..." Tirava muttered from tactical.

"Confirmed," Jimenez added. "They've lost control of their power distribution, the feedback is reaching critical..."

"Dammit," Kreighen spat. "Get him back, Ensign..."

Jimenez's fingers raced across his console, and it became clear that the order was not as simple as expected. "I can't get a lock, sir--defense screens all over the ship are activating and deactivating--"

"Sensors detect another ship dropping out of warp," Tirava interrupted. "It's the Alyseans...they're firing on the Borg!"

Kreighen snapped to his feet. "Hail them! Tell them to break off the attack until--"

There was no time. The cube suddenly exploded on the viewscreen.

Kreighen's fists tightened with futile rage, but he dared not show it in his face. He'd been a pilot for years, and he'd served under the finest command officers in Starfleet. He knew how a mission commander ought to bear the failure of a mission, and the loss of a crewman. And so he stood and stared at the viewscreen for a moment, watching the debris of the cube dissipate into interstellar space.

"Incoming transmission from the Alyseans," Tirava slowly reported. As she read the datastream, her antennae twitched. "They're asking about the crewman they rescued from the cube!"

Kreighen spun around to face her, then spun around again to the viewscreen. "Put 'em through!" Composing himself, he gave the familiar greeting. "This is Lieutenant Commander Jacob Kreighen of..." Of _what_? It wasn't so easy to be sure anymore. "...of...the United Federation of Planets. Please identify yourselves."

The image on the viewer changed to show what was presumably an Alysean woman. She stood tall and straight, with a cocksure grin on her face. She wore a jacket bearing elaborate epaulettes, suggesting some sort of military uniform, but it was left unbuttoned as if protocol had become secondary to comfort. True to Tirava's word, her face was a pale lavender, contrasting with intensely yellow eyes. "My appellation is Alanor Yissiv, shipmaster of the _Styark'nboe_. For your abetment against the Borg, you have the eternal thanksgiving of the Alysean culture, Commander."

"It's a pleasure to make new friends in this part of the galaxy," Kreighen replied. "Your transmission mentioned that you rescued one of our people?"

"Ah, anticipatable," Yissiv remarked, realizing her counterpart's priorities. Your Mister 'Ajax' appears in fine fettle, so far as we fathom his constitution. Our technologists have him down in the workshop asking him uncountable questions. Are you all...photonic in nature?"

"Ehh...no. Shipmaster, how exactly _did_ you recover him?"

"It was scantily a trifle, my friend. Our industry has confounded the Borg for yearhundreds. When we recognized you wouldn't be able to regain him yourselves, I reasoned you might need our relief. Certainly I wasn't about to permit one of our saviors to be nullified along with that isometric monstrosity."

Kreighen glanced to his shipmates, his face loosening up into an easy smile. "Well, that means a great deal to us, ma'am--our crew is pretty small, and I don't think any of us would have known what to do without him."

Yissiv's smile seemed to grow along with his. "Then tonight's jubilation should be all the better!"

"I...beg your pardon?"

"It is our way, Commander...and I speculate you'll detect it to your pleasure. Alysean custom cannot allow the charity of xenoforms to go unrewarded. You and your company are invited to relish our hospitality. Until tomorrow evening, your gratification is the paramount concern of my race. If you feel obliged toward us, I submit that you should impose upon our obligation toward you."

Kreighen tilted his head and mulled it over. "Why not?" he finally wondered aloud. "We'll drop by within the hour."

"Resplendent," Yissiv answered, more than a little suggestively. "I yearn to continue our...congress." And then the transmission ended.

Instantly thereafter, Kreighen was looking to Tirava, the closest he had to an expert on this culture. " _Really?_ "

"Actually..." Her antennae bent low as she tried to come up with an answer. "If what I understand is true, she may have been...understating it."

"Oh." Kreighen felt a familiar knot in his stomach: things were about to get complicated. Not for the first time, he slightly wished he were fighting the Borg again.


	2. Chapter 2

There were only four people aboard the _Albatross_ , setting aside their company of holographic soldiers. What had been a large crew in the shuttlecraft _Hrunting_ was now unimaginably sparse within a Borg interceptor designed to house thousands of drones. Fortunately, the ship had been designed for operation by a single mind--the collective thoughts of the Borg as one will--and it was at least feasible for one or two individuals to fly the vessel while the others slept. Arranging living quarters, on the other hand, had proven more difficult in a spacecraft for cyborgs that rested alongside the walls. After several months sleeping on benches in the back of a shuttle, the crew had made the construction of bedrooms a top priority.

Utana Ijhel was frequently found in her share of the personal space. Unlike the others, she was a civilian--a Cardassian computer programmer sent to the front lines in a non-combat role, to help develop an army of holograms. Under the current circumstances, her role was limited to enhancements on Sergeant Ajax and similarly abstract objectives. When Tirava needed to find Ijhel, she had a pretty good idea where to look.

What she had not expected was to find the doctor modeling a dress. "Well? What do you think?"

Tirava stopped in the doorway and squinted. "It's...beige?"

"Of _course_ it's beige!" Ijhel retorted, wrinkling her nose. "How does it _look_?"

"It looks...fine?" The Andorian shrugged. "You know, you could have worn your uniform..."

"Pfah," the doctor muttered. "That quilted jumpsuit served no purpose except to include a Cardassian citizen in a Starfleet mission to work with the Borg resistance movement. Well, take a look around, Lieutenant--we're light years away from Unimatrix Zero, and far beyond Starfleet's authority. Our days of rationing replicator usage are over, and I for one have would like to meet our gracious hosts on my own terms, representing my own government."

"I wouldn't have thought you cared much for parties or diplomatic functions."

"And you'd be correct," Ijhel smiled as she reached for her personal workstation. "I intend to exchange a few greetings and then find a comfortable corner alone to work on my code. But I may as well look good doing that. They did recover Ajax, after all, and from what I gather they're quite nice."

"About that," Tirava added. "Kreighen thought you should be briefed about the Alyseans. They're very...unrestrained, compared to most cultures. Several of them may be a little more 'nice' than you're expecting."

Ijhel looked up from running her diagnostic. "How _much_ more nice?"

Tirava gave up trying to soft-pedal it. "They'll want to have sex with us."

A pause. "Not all of us at once, one hopes."

It was perhaps the first time in twenty years that Tirava had been seen chuckling, ever so slightly. "No, I doubt it..."

"Then I fail to see the controversy."

"Don't ask me--I explained it to Kreighen and Jimenez and they said I should clear it with you. That's humans for you."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"You should have seen the looks in their eyes," the Andorian huffed. "Not that either of them would want you to. Human males are...passionate--but they don't want their females to know that. They're like Andorians pretending to be...to be Vulcan clerics, with about as much success."

"Really..." Ijhel marveled. "I hadn't given it much thought. Humans have always seemed a tad dull to me. Although I suppose this does explain your interest in Commander Kre--"

Tirava's antennae shot upward and she glared at her companion. "Leave it be, Doctor."

The Cardassian was taken aback by the sudden change in her tone, and stepped away from her. "No offense intended, Lieutenant. I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

***

When the _Albatross_ crew materialized on the _Styark'nboe_ , they found themselves in a chamber that seemed to double as a transporter room and a reception area. They were greeted by Shipmaster Yissiv, along with a man that looked to be her executive officer, and the Alysean version of a waiter holding a tray of drinks.

"Salutations, my friends" Yissiv began. "The Alysean Community wishes you well."

Kreighen glanced to his shipmates, as if recognizing that no one was going to do this for him. "Well..." he started, stepping down from the transporter platform, extending his hand to Yissiv, "on behalf of the Federation, and my crew, I want to say it's my honor to establish First Contact with your socie--"

Yissiv took his hand, pulled him into a dip, and kissed him deeply. For about thirty seconds. Kreighen only struggled for five.

Still standing on the platform, Jimenez tried to be looking anywhere else. Tirava set her jaw and exhaled loudly. And Ijhel looked on, utterly fascinated. She leaned over to Tirava. "I think I see what you mean about--" She felt the Andorian's blood boiling, and decided to lean back the other way. "Leaving it be."

When the shipmaster finally released her embrace, Kreighen regained his composure, and she smiled at him. "Customarily my people would seek concurrence before taking such license," she explained. "But you unfettered my ship, and possibly my race entire. I dared not allot you the occasion to refuse, just this once."

Kreighen glanced back to his team, and then back to his counterpart. "Yeah. Yeah, no, it's fine. But...'concurrence' is good. My 'race entire' likes concurrence."

The executive officer spoke up. "Mayhap we should traverse to the banquet hall, ma'am?"

"Aye, Thlane, the dancers are indubitably ready by now," she acknowledged, before gesturing to the waiter. "My friends, it will be a considerable stroll; indulge in our refreshments in the meanwhile."

Kreighen immediately snatched up a tall, slim glass, sipping it slowly so as to allow his cohorts to walk by without comment. Only Tirava paused to consider him, but said nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

True to Yissiv's word, there were dancers. Some pranced around the hall, others slowly writhed in place. Few were fully dressed. The Alyseans were nothing if not an expressive people. Kreighen reckoned their "jubilation" to be something like a bachelor party on the scale of a small town parade.

"So then?" Yissiv asked him eagerly. "What do you gauge of the whole of it?"

He took another swig of his drink to give himself time to think of a response besides "kind of silly." "Um...very stimulating," he finally answered. "After being cooped up in that Borg ship for so long, I think I'd forgotten there were colors besides gray."

A nubile young woman approached the captain's table, and offered Kreighen a piece of fruit. More precisely, she balanced it on her shoulders as she contorted, before letting it roll down her outstretched arm before him. 

"Uh, thanks."

"Commander," Yissiv explained, "this is Mzellia, my foreman of security." 

"My bedchamber awaits, if you so ache," Mzellia added.

Kreighen blinked at her. "I feel more secure already." When he realized she wasn't going anywhere, he answered her offer: "I'm flattered, but it's been a long day. Don't ruin your evening waiting on me."

"Lamentable," she pouted slightly, and then cheerfully gyrated away to fraternize with an Alysean man.

Yissiv put her arm around him, and leaned in close. "Do our ways disconcert you, Commander Kreighen?"

He could see where this was going, and he wasn't thrilled about it. Taking another long drink, he replied. "It's all a bit much for someone like me, ma'am. My species sometimes...plays...like this, but we've usually kept it separate from our work. Especially starship operations."

"An idiosyncratic concept," she concluded, "though I must assert that if we had distinguished you as a security risk, Mzellia would have ushered you to the stockade, tassels or no."

"I'm sure she would," he conceded. "But in my culture, there aren't many security officers like her; I suppose they pursue other careers."

Yissiv nodded. "Would that it were so feasible aboard a refugee ship. All of us were birthed in space, in vessels like this one, learning from juvenility to keep a parsec ahead of the Borg. We are _always_ laboring, my dear Commander, so it's no marvel we intermingle labor with frolic." She stopped, as if catching herself in mid-speech. "But I dare not harangue you, since it is our differences that make this intercourse so thrilling."

"Agreed--that's why it's the primary mission of Starfleet," Kreighen smiled as he peeled his fruit. "To be honest, I'm more interested in your history than all of this hullabaloo. How _have_ you stayed ahead of the Borg all this time?"

Her eyes lit up as she considered the question, as well as the man asking it. "I fathom that I'm beginning to realize your people, Mister Kreighen...or if not, then you at the minimum. It's not carnal pursuits you seek, but cognizance of the infinity surrounding you. I might have done as well to show you to our biblioteca."

"It comes with the uniform," he admitted. "But don't think I don't appreciate all the trouble you've gone to. My crew needed this diversion. After everything we've been through, and the long journey ahead of us."

"Whither do you traverse?" Yissiv asked innocently. "You spoke your Earth is a great gross of kiloparsecs away, but your ship can't conceivably take you that far. Even the propulsion device you wanted to take from that Borg cube wouldn't have borne you more than half of the trek."

Kreighen shook his head, and stared at his drink. "That," he muttered, "is a long story..."

Unexpectedly, he was interrupted by a shadow growing over the table. He turned to find a familiar face. "Commander," Sergeant Ajax began.

"I was wondering what happened to you," Kreighen replied. "Have they been taking good care of you?"

Ajax was puzzled by the suggestion. "I'm software, sir, there isn't much to take care of. Frankly, I'm not certain the Alyseans quite understand that."

Yissiv provided more insight into the situation. "Photonic projection is an obscure discipline in our industries, Mister Ajax. You must excuse the crew's fascination."

"Fascination is one thing," Ajax retorted, "but these people are bound and determined to satisfy yearnings outside the scope of my program!" Turning back to his commanding officer, he resumed his original train of thought. "Sir, I spoke with Tirava about returning to the _Albatross_ , but she said I should clear it with you."

"Good for her," Kreighen grinned, "because I'm ordering you to get your nonexistent itches scratched."

" _Sir?_ " Ajax had cleaved his way through legions of Borg drones, and yet he'd never looked so shocked.

"Soldiers get R&R," the commander reasoned. "Even holographic ones, if I have anything to say about it. You've been through as rough a time as the rest of us, and I know you won't take it easy unless I force you to. These are nice people, and they want to bend....ah...bend over backwards for us. Personally I can't picture any of the others taking them up on the offer. But I don't want the Alyseans to feel unappreciated, and I happen to know you aren't programmed with any excuses."

Ajax stood at attention. "Begging your pardon sir, but you're putting me in a difficult position. My programming won't allow me to refuse a direct order from my superiors."

"I'm counting on it, Ajax. Dismissed."

Ajax seemed to almost sulk away, like a broad-shouldered war machine shuffling to the principal's office. Kreighen strained not to burst out laughing, before washing it down with another drink. "I wish I could do that to the others, to be honest."

Yissiv, in contrast, was openly chortling. "Would that you could bestow _yourself_ those decrees."

"Knowing me, I'd probably tell myself to go to hell and get myself court-martialed." He finished his drink. "Or worse."

"You don't deem you merit this..."--she struggled with the term--"this _arrrnnn-arrhh_ , do you?"

"'Rest and recuperation,' and no, I suppose I don't."

"If that's so, then I shall suffice with gratifying your yen for research," Yissiv declared. She rose to her feet, and took his hand to lead him away from the table. "Accompany me, Commander, to our propulsion department--if you will not be indulged as a male, then I shall indulge you as a scientist."

He stood, but he did not follow. "It sounds great," he began, "but I don't feel right leaving the party early--"

An Alysean fellow, clad only in a loincloth, leaped across their table, and began to sensually pour water onto his own chest.

"On the other hand..." Kreighen backed off slowly, and then hot-footed it to catch up with Yissiv. "I _have_ been dying to get a look at your engines..."


	4. Chapter 4

It turned out that First Mate Thlane had an uncanny talent for massage, and that Alysean science had uncovered the medical benefits of therapeutic kneading of the triceps surae. And so it came to be that Tirava was spread out across a banquet table holding her leg in the air. "You're conspicuously tense," he told her, as he squeezed and shaped the muscle.

"All Andorians are tense," she sighed. Looking to her crewmate, she added, "Ask Jimenez, he's the one that has to deal with it."

Ensign Jimenez felt awkward enough as it was, but tried his best to contribute to the conversation. "I can't complain--if I had to guess, your species is adapted for short bursts of power in the colder climate of--"

"Nathan," she interrupted. "It was a joke."

He noticed the Alyseans around the table had all gotten it, and felt his cheeks redden. "Oh."

"You _need_ to try this," she decided. "it would do you a--nnnhh--a world of good."

"Did that injure?" Thlane worried.

Tirava quickly shook her head and waved it off. "Not as much as it'll hurt if you stop."

"I don't know," Jimenez answered. "I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing."

"That's because you don't relax unless you're underneath a warp core doing repairs," the Andorian argued. "You can't even bring yourself to look at my calf."

Jimenez rolled his eyes. "I make it a policy not to ogle my superior officers, Lieutenant."

One of the Alyseans spoke up. "Declaring for myself, I find him...quaintly chivalrous, in his own fashion."

"Well, thank you, ma'am," the ensign replied with a nod.

"You're only saying that," Tirava scoffed, "because you haven't been cooped up with him for six months with only one sonic shower for four people."

"Oh lord," he groaned. "Not that story again..."

Thlane's interest was piqued. "Thus I take it for a anecdote I must observe."

She gave her masseuse her other leg, and indulged his request. "I don't know if Alyseans even have sonic showers...they're just chambers that emit sonic vibrations, to break up dirt on the skin. Until last month we only had one on the whole ship. So one morning I'm taking my shower, and my eyes are closed, relaxing in the hum, and I feel this _hand_ \--"

"I didn't know you were in there," Jimenez protested.

"--this _hand_ presses up against my right breast and I open my eyes and there is Ensign Nathan Jimenez, naked as I am, with this... _perplexed_ expression..."

"I was reaching for the back wall of the shower!" he insisted, now acutely aware of the Alyseans laughing around him.

"You were reaching for a broken arm!" Tirava smiled. "You'd probably have gotten one if you hadn't had that stupid look on--"

As she trailed off, her gaze grew distant, and Jimenez craned his neck to get a better look from her point of view. He didn't see much of anything--just more Alyseans on the other side of the hall, and Commander Kreighen and Shipmaster Yissiv walking off together. There was some drunken madman dousing himself with water at their table, but it was really nothing out of the ordinary for these festivities. "You all right, Tirava?"

"Huh? Fine." She looked as if she'd snapped out of a trance, although her antennae still sagged low. "A-anyway, the..." She struggled to remember her train of though. "...The point of the story, Ensign, is that no harm was done, so it would do you good to lighten up a little." She forced a smile and twitched her antennae. "Just not in my shower."

Leaping off the table and onto her feet, Tirava directed her attention to Thlane. "You do excellent work."

"A pittance," he insisted, "of what the Alyseans owe you, m'lady."

"You all keep saying that." Her antennae wiggled, finally directing themselves straight toward the first mate. "That we can have anything we want."

"I'm questionless that we can accomplish any request."

"You're going to try," she mused, and glanced to the nearest door. He got the message.

"Lieutenant?" Jimenez was surprised by her forwardness. "What are you doing?"

"Whatever I damn well please," she smirked. As she left with her host, she turned back to Jimenez. "I'll see you around, Nathan. Keep the others happy while I'm gone!"

One of the men at the table rose to excuse himself as well. "Brothers, I reason we should adjourn, to allow our distaff side to cloy young Nathan of Earth."

"Most agreeable," replied the woman who complimented Jimenez earlier. "Despite that he may not easily elect one from among us. Mayhap a game...the _mlek'toh_."

Jimenez noticed that all of the Alyseans in earshot were in awe of the suggestion. "Ecstatic idea, Nimmiret," one woman remarked. "It's been _saecula_ since I last vied in the _mlek'toh_."

"But not _here_ , sisters!" another insisted. "Oh, I don't fathom besieged Nathan could brook _that_. We should seek somewhither more circumspect, that we should not be disarranged..."

"Hang on, ladies," Jimenez interjected. "What _is_ a _mlek'toh_?"

They ceased their debate and stared at him in unison. "You...your translation device can detect no synonym?" Nimmiret asked.

"Well, it's..." He shrugged and laughed softly. "It's been having adversity with thy vernacular all crepesculum."

The woman turned to one another and began to giggle loudly. "All the more exquisite," one of them teased. "Then we should unfurl nothing, so you may be waylaid when the moment comes!" 

" _Waylaid?_ " Jimenez gulped.


	5. Chapter 5

The engineering section of the _Styark'nboe_ \--what the Alyseans called their "propulsion department"--was unlike anything Commander Kreighen had ever seen. He'd expected a warp core, matter/antimatter injector systems, and plasma manifolds. What he got was a handful of computer stations surrounded by a veritable planetarium, displaying the observable universe in every direction.

"I don't understand," he told Shipmaster Yissiv. "Where are the engines? The fuel?"

She gestured to her cranium. "The whole of it is hither, Commander. That is what impedes the Borg from incorporating our methodology."

"I don't understand..."

"Our philosophies tell us that sapient consciousness can be wielded with immeasurable power upon the four dimensions, and even the innate extremities of reality. We propel our ships with our minds, engendering soliton waves and configuring them with thought."

Kreighen began to put it together. "I've heard of that--my people have occasionally encountered beings with the power to blend space, time, and thought. Our storytellers have imagined the concept for centuries. But I never thought I'd see it employed like this, on a transport ship."

"Storytellers," Yissiv repeated. "That is the salience of the topic. You lack the science of this but you can yet conceptualize it. The Borg cannot, even upon incorporating a species that can. There are no Borg storytellers."

"They lack the imagination to appreciate your ideas, let alone implement them." Now it made sense to him. The Borg's mission was to add other cultures' "biological and technological distinctiveness" to their own. Even when confronted with something they couldn't assimilate, such as the dense genetic code of Species 8472, or the anti-nanoprobe cocktails that Starfleet had developed for the current war, the Collective at least perceived biological and technological advantages that were relevant to their interests. But just as often, they overlooked advantages they weren't instructed to consider. Twenty years ago, the Federation thwarted a Borg invasion with little more than human guile and lateral thinking, skills the Borg deemed "irrelevant" even after assimilating humans. In the Alyseans' case, their own "irrelevant" qualities were all the more powerful, but overlooked just the same.

"At one time, we also were absent the capacity to yoke our thoughts," Yissiv continued. "But when the Borg captured our homeworld--our methodology was obliged to mutate or vanish."

"But to what end?" Kreighen wondered. "I assume your people don't have the resources to go back and reclaim your world. What's left for you besides roaming through their territory?"

Yissiv gave him a knowing smile, and entered a series of commands into the console. "Hence the purpose of beckoning you to this place," she answered, as a new star chart filled the endless viewscreen.

Kreighen was astonished by the view--a highly detailed map of four globular clusters. "The Sagittarius Dwarf Elliptical Galaxy," he announced to no one in particular.

"Sagi--?"

"Sagittarius is a constellation," he explained. "When viewed from Earth, its stars form the shape of an archer, and this galaxy is within it."

"Our appellation for it is _Pooran-t-biru_ \--'the utopia beyond.'" Yissiv sat down and modified the chart, showing their current position in relation to the alien galaxy. "It's nearest stars are a gross-gross parsecs from this sector. My mandate is to command my crew through that journey, and deliver them from Borg space."

Kreighen's jaw dropped as he listened to those words and looked at the flight path. "That's nearly seventy thousand light years... How long will that take, with your propulsion systems?"

"The soliton wave is no hastier than your warp drive," she clarified. "With that alone, the venture would require three score and two years. But we've been plying our theories to quantum slipstream concepts. At maximal efficiency, once we've obtained provisions? Seven months."

"Amazing," he muttered through his awe. "The Federation has had limited contact with extragalactic beings, but to actually go out and explore another galaxy..."

She took his hand, and clasped her own around it. "I inferred that you would perceive it that way. I speculate that we two are very much akin, Mister Kreighen."

It took him a moment to notice her holding his hand, but he found it didn't trouble him. "It comes with the job," he concluded. "It's funny. When I joined Starfleet it was to be a pilot. To fly everywhere, to see anyplace I'd never been. I never gave any thought to why flight officers were put on the command track--why they take the best pilots and make them average XO's. But now I'm in command of a crew an it's still all the same thing--making the ship go, deciding where to go next and how to get there. Neither of us would have our jobs if we didn't love it." 

Kreighen turned and confronted her with a sudden realization. "You _knew_ this mission of yours would get me turned on, didn't you?"

"I recognized it would pleasure you," she admitted, stroking the back of his hand.

His face flushed as he searched for the most tactful response. "Look, Alanor...I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to do everything you want to let me do. But thing are complicated..."

"Your race must excel at complication," Yissiv remarked.

"You don't know the half of it," he acknowledged. "My government sent us out here from the Alpha Quadrant to fight a war--to defeat the Borg and eradicate them from the galaxy. And that's a righteous cause, but...but I thought my leaders were pursuing it dishonorably. And when I tried to expose that dishonor, all I did was get my crew sent into exile. Jimenez, Ijhel, Tirava...they're all but condemned to die with me...because of my actions."

"So...whither you?"

"I..." The more he considered the question, the more he realized he'd been avoiding the answer for four months. "I don't know. We've been on a course to return to the front lines, but that's just because it's the only direction we know will lead us out of Borg space. We can't go back to Starfleet...even if we could go back to the Alpha Quadrant, we'd be at best deserters and at worst traitors. I've been so worried about keeping the crew from dying because of me that I haven't put any thought into where we'll start living."

"Then permit me to unravel your quandary," Yissiv cooed as she rose to her feet and embraced him. "Join us. Accompany us to _Pooran-t-biru_ , and fret no longer about Borgs and Starfleets and Alpha Quadrants. Your burdens would be gone, your crew would persist in comfort..." She licked his ear as she leaned in to whisper: "And you could do everything I 'want to let you do.'"


	6. Chapter 6

True to her word, Doctor Ijhel had found a "comfortable corner" of the Alysean ship to focus on her work. However, she was not nearly as alone as she had hoped.

"Allow me this interruption," said the seventh Alysean to wander by the auxiliary transporter room since she'd settled there. "Is there whatsoever I can attend to on your behalf?"

Ijhel lowered her workstation and sighed. "No, thank you," she repeated for the seventh time. "I just wanted to be alone. I'm certain I couldn't do any harm to your transporters, so I hope this arrangement isn't a problem for--"

"You may remain hither if you prefer," the woman said, cutting to the point. "But my motive was to proffer companionship."

This greatly confused the Cardassian; the last six visitors had been male. "I beg your pardon, Miss...?"

"Elosorel. I was told you rebuffed the others who courted you. We surmised..."

Ijhel nearly dropped her computer. "Oh dear," she exclaimed. "You've surmised incorrectly, I'm afraid. Your males are..." She struggled for the tactful thing to say. "...Pleasant enough. I'm simply in no mood for that sort of recreation."

Elosorel smiled. "That is no insult, Doctor. It is comfort enow that we cognized you accurately at the start. We weren't certain we could sense your species properly."

"'Cognized?'"

"How to elucidate...my race can innately perceive whether someone prefers males or females. Without the cognizance, we would have at best a five hundred permille probability of a correct hunch. Are there no races with that aptitude in your native quadrant?"

This was becoming quite awkward; Ijhel longed for her algorithms and subroutines. "Not that I know of. But then, there are no homosexuals in Cardassia. Our government has been quite thorough in confirming that."

"Indeed?" Elosorel marveled, lacking the context to challenge this questionable claim. "Such an anomalous concept. That must _bewilder_ your social interactions."

Before Ijhel could debate this point, they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Sergeant Ajax. "Doctor," he said with some exasperation, "you have to help me."

The Cardassian was on her feet in an instant. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I've been all over this ship, trying to follow Commander Kreighen's orders, but I can't!"

"Orders?" Elosorel wondered.

He straightened as he addressed one of his hosts. "The commander made it clear that I was to, ah, enjoy the hospitality of your people."

"Then I cannot fathom your worriment," she grinned.

"Fortunately, I can," Ijhel grumbled. "I designed Mister Ajax's holomatrix, including the heuristic patterns regarding command hierarchy."

"And what of his venereal faculties?" the Alysean replied.

"He doesn't _have_ 'venereal faculties,'" Ijhel quipped, "that's the problem." She carried her computer over to Ajax and began hurriedly running diagnostics. "Oh, damn you, Jake. I design the most sophisticated artificial intelligence since Zimmerman or Soong, and _just like a human_ he can't resist feeding it paradoxes to see if it'll explode."

"I _am_ right here, Doctor," Ajax muttered.

"Well, of course you are!"

"Just because I'm not designed for recreation doesn't mean I'm an automaton you can refer to in the third person."

"No," she seethed, "the fact that you're a computer program for projecting force fields into a self-operating structure means you're an automaton I can refer to in the third person."

"Then wherefore are you so disquieted by his malady?" Elosorel asked.

"Because he's my project and I'm committed to my work," Ijhel insisted. She was growing visibly irritated by the distractions from her diagnostic. "I'm sorry, madam, but I'm going to need some time alone..."

"Of course," Ajax rolled his eyes, "you'll apologize to _her_..."

" _You_ aren't supposed to _care_ , remember?" his programmer snapped. "That's why you can't follow Kreighen's orders."

Elosorel watched them bicker for a few moments, waiting for an opportunity to formally excuse herself. When she found none, she quietly backed toward the doorway. " _Most_ bewildering," she mused.

***

By morning, every muscle in First Mate Thlane's body was sore. When he tried to roll out of his mattress, he found that he could not. At this he smiled; he had represented the Alysean people quite well.

Lieutenant Tirava was still beside him, immobile but for her breathing and the occasional twitch of her antennae. Her metabolism, as he'd deduced through empirical research, was much higher than that of his species, which accounted for her exhausting energy before and her deep torpor now. The exobiology unit, he realized, was going to want a comprehensive report on his findings.

He suddenly heard a peculiar chirp emanating from the pile that was Tirava's uniform, and then a familiar voice. "Kreighen to Tirava." The Andorian did not stir at the sound of her name. "Tirava, respond."

Thlane grew still as he considered the best course of action. Obviously, Tirava needed to be awakened to answer her commanding officer. But he wasn't confident he could do that without making any noise that might be picked up by her communicator. Of course, he wasn't even sure that the device was transmitting just because it was receiving--even now he still wasn't sure how these odd things worked. Regardless, his priority was the comfort of his guest, and he was not about to embarrass her by allowing Kreighen to become privy to their relations.

And so, very quietly, he pinched her right antenna.

Tirava reacted as if she'd had water poured up her nose, sputtering awake and trying to steady herself against dizziness. "Wh--Uzaveh, what the--?"

"Rise and shine, Tirava," Kreighen continued over the comm channel. It occurred to Thlane that this was probably not the first time the human had contacted her this way while she was asleep.

She turned and looked to Thlane, who shrugged to indicate his intentions, and then she fumbled for her communicator. "Tirava here."

"Sorry to bother you," Kreighen explained, but I've got ship's business to discuss to discuss. I'm convening a staff meeting aboard the _Albatross_ at oh-seven-hundred."

"Um...acknowledged," she responded. Then she began to look around the room in confusion.

"It's oh-six-forty, Tirava," Kreighen added.

"Right," she groaned. "I'll be there."

"You don't sound nearly as hungover as I expected," he joked.

"Shows what you know," she chided him. "Andorian hangovers don't last until morning. Tirava out."

"Good dawn," Thlane announced as soon as he felt it was safe to speak.

"That's debatable," she countered as she staggered to her feet. "Where are my scivvies?"

"You fastened them into most labyrinthine knots," he replied, unthinkingly rubbing his own wrists.

She stopped to recollect what he was talking about, and a grin stretched across her weary face. "Oh yeah."

"Relate something for my benefit, m'lady."

"Huh? Oh. You were magnificent, Thlane, you lived up to your word."

He chuckled but shook his head. "You anticipate the wrong query. Whyfor did you lay with me?"

She abruptly stopped untangling her shorts at the question. "Isn't that what your whole crew wanted me to do, from the minute we showed up?"

"And I am fulfilled that you availed yourself of the proposition. Yet, it is transparent that you are...dedicated to Commander Kreighen."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Scant enow to militate an Alysean. But it's significant to you, I fathom."

She sighed and shook her head. "It's not transparent or significant to _him_ , Thlane. He's mine, but that doesn't 'militate' an Andorian woman."

"If he's yours," Thlane wondered, "what then am I?"

Mulling it over, she gathered up the rest of her uniform, and then bent down to meet his eyes. When she finished kissing him farewell, she answered his question. "A _much_ -needed diversion, my love. But he _is_ mine, and I must see that through. Wherever that leads me."


	7. Chapter 7

Ensign Jimenez was the last one to make it to the bridge of the _Albatross_ , a full ten minutes late. His hair was tousled, his uniform jacket was wrinkled, and he had a tear running down the inseam of his right trouser leg.

"Rough night?" Tirava prodded.

Jimenez fumbled with the food replicator until he had a large mug of Klingon coffee, then slowly swung his head toward the Andorian. "Do you know what _mlek'toh_ is?" 

"No?"

"Then I can't explain it," he muttered as he sat down at his station, "because I don't either."

"Really," Doctor Ijhel interjected, "I'd have thought you both would be accustomed to a little sleep deprivation once in a while. I for one am thoroughly energized."

Tirava gave her a sideways glance. "No kidding."

"I spent all night debugging Ajax's matrix," the Cardassian explained. "Oh, there was a diversion here and there, but eventually the Alyseans realized the most considerate thing to do was to leave me to my work, and I solved some _intriguing_ problems with the generic classes receiving incompatible hyperobject types. In fact, there may be a paper in the research--"

"Doctor," Commander Kreighen cut in. "We're all glad you had...'fun.'"

Ajax lit up at the statement, and addressed the commander. "Sir, given that you accept as a premise the doctor's gratification, and that she attributes this to the efforts of the Alyseans, then their mission to pamper this crew would be considered successful, correct?"

Kreighen blinked at him with bleary eyes. "What are you getting at, Ajax?"

"Doctor Ijhel was working on the library packages in my program," the hologram elaborated. "It could therefore be argued that I provided her with a diversion, and the Alyseans with a course of action to please her. In effect, I have followed your orders to personally ensure their success in indulging this crew."

Befuddled, the commander looked to Jimenez and Tirava, who were too impressed to respond. "If I remember correctly, my exact words were 'get your nonexistent itches scratched.'"

Ajax paused for just a moment and presented his rebuttal. "An undecidable problem, sir, even when taken metaphorically. Under the circumstances I have to consider the broader context of your orders. Your intent was that I placate the Alyseans. I have."

"My _intent_ was for you to relax."

The sergeant smiled, having resolved his paradox. "I'm relaxed _now_ , sir. CONSOLE: THREE EIGHT ONE."

Ijhel nearly leaped from her chair. " _Three hundred eighty-one nanoseconds!_ You see! Before last night it would have taken him _twice_ that long to reject an illogical premise using inverse causality!" Upon realizing her outburst, she settled back into her chair. "I'll...uh...clean out my breakpoints this afternoon."

Tirava took the opportunity to get to the point. "Why are we here, Commander?"

"That's...as good a place as any to start." Kreighen stood up and--in a slight display of his nervousness--tugged at his jacket. "We're here, because six months ago I decided Admiral Janeway was wrong about the war with the Borg, and I tried to stop her. I made a decision to risk my career playing chicken with her, she didn't blink, and I was prepared to face the consequences. I didn't expect any of you to be sent with me to die behind enemy lines.

"But we haven't died. I'm sure it would have suited Janeway just fine if we'd been killed by the Borg, or Glinn Ledret, or Species 10538. Or maybe she expected we'd turn on each other--anything to eliminate her little problem without technically violating her Starfleet oath. Instead we've survived, and we've come together as a unit. I didn't ask for this command, and if I had it to do over again, I'd have kept you all out of it. But I'm proud of this crew.

"I know we haven't discussed our future plans. We haven't needed to, because we all know the situation. There's no point in returning to Unimatrix Zero--we were only sent there to make sure we were killed, and we could stay put to do that. We've been headed back to the front because it's the closest region of space that we know isn't controlled by the Borg. But Janeway isn't about to welcome us back into the fold. We could try to find a way back to the Alpha Quadrant, but even if we succeeded, we couldn't just pick up our lives where we left off before the war. That leaves an infinite number of alternatives that we'd have to search for while wandering through unknown space.

"I spent most of last night talking to Shipmaster Yissiv, and she's offered us one of those alternatives. The Alyseans know they can't beat the Borg, so they're leaving the Delta Quadrant on a course for the nearest neighboring galaxy. It's going to take months to prepare for the trip, and months of transwarp travel through empty space to get there, and there's no guarantee that they'll find a safe place to settle when they get there. But it's as good an opportunity as any, and Yissiv has invited us to join them."

"And what did you tell her?" Ijhel asked.

"That I have to consult with my crew," he replied. "I can't ask any of you to stay or go based on what the rest of the crew decides. But personally...I had to decline her offer. I still have a mission to complete."

Jimenez took issue with that. "With all due respect, Jake, how do you complete a mission for somebody who'd have you executed as soon as she'd look at you?"

Ajax already had the answer. "Species 10538. They're a direct threat to the both the Borg and the Federation Alliance. Starfleet needs to be warned about them before they become involved in the war, and we're the only ones with the information they need."

Kreighen nodded. "Exactly. Janeway can shoot the messenger if she wants..." He trailed off, a cocky grin forming on his face. "Well, she can try, anyway. But I have to make sure she gets the message. However, there's no reason why I have to drag the rest of you down with me. Not again."

"It sounds like you want us to go with Yissiv," Tirava concluded.

He inhaled deeply, and looked her straight in the eye...for about a second, until he glanced away. "That's because I can't think of a reason why you shouldn't," he finally said. "I'm taking the _Albatross_ to the nearest Allied outpost. I won't turn away anyone who wants to come with me, and I'll make sure I'm the only one who has to face Janeway. But the Alyseans are good people, offering you a good life. If you want to take them up on it, report to the _Styark'nboe_ by thirteen hundred hours."

There was a long silence, as no one felt inclined to look at anything except their boots. And then Ajax was the first to speak.

"Commander," he announced, "I'm going with you."

"You're a sentient being, Ajax," Kreighen protested. "You don't have to--"

"I'm Starfleet property, sir--I can no more go AWOL than I can go on R&R. Even if I weren't, I'm programmed to be an exemplary Starfleet officer; I have no more choice in the matter than you do. I think you'll find all of the military holograms in our arsenal will share that opinion."

"Well," Ijhel observed, "I'm the furthest thing from a Starfleet officer, exemplary of otherwise. The promise of surviving with the Alyseans is appealing, but what good is survival without my work?"

This perturbed the hologram. "Don't make this about me, Doctor--"

"I'm not, Sergeant," she insisted. "Believe me, even if you and the other hollow men ran off to some far-away galaxy, I would still need the satisfaction of refining your source code, and turning in the completed project to Starfleet. It seems, Commander, that the only place in the universe where I belong is at your side."

"Agreed," Tirava added curtly. "There's...nothing for me over on that ship." This was all the explanation she would provide.

All eyes turned to Jimenez. "Ensign," Kreighen told him, "it's still your call, I don't want you to feel pressure from the others--"

"I don't, sir," he interrupted. "I made up my mind before they said anything. The Alyseans are, um, a swell bunch of people, but this is my crew. This is...is..." He cracked up a bit trying to say the words. "This is my family. It's about as dysfunctional as my Aunt Yadira's family--and it's just as hard to get dibs on the shower--but...yeah."

Kreighen was stunned by the turnout. "OK...then...I guess I just need to break the news to Alanor--"

Jimenez seemed to haul himself out of his seat against his own will. "I'm not finished, Commander."

"I see?"

The ensign paced around the room, forcing the words out. "I don't have any pretty speeches--that's why I went into engineering. But we all know everything that went down. The first day I met Jake Kreighen I broke his jaw. None of that matters anymore--we're out here now, and we just have to, y'know, deal with it. Everybody here just voted to keep dealing with it. So I don't know about you, but I kinda want our commanding officer to quit worrying about how he got us into this mess, when all that matters is getting out of it." 

He ran out of things to say, but there was no immediate response. "So...yeah."

"I second the motion," Tirava eventually declared, "and move for an immediate vote."

Ijhel was totally lost. "You _what_ , exactly?"

"It's traditional parliamentary procedure from Earth," Kreighen explained. Glaring at Tirava, he added, "That isn't how the Starfleet command structure works, though."

"Court-martial me, then," the Andorian smirked. "Nathan's right--this time we've _chosen_ to stand by you, so there's nothing left for you to wring your hands about. All in favor, say 'aye.'"

There was no hesitation from Jimenez, Ijhel, or Ajax. "Aye," said everyone but the commander.

"You're outvoted," Tirava joked.

"I noticed," Kreighen groaned. "All right, I suppose if I ever want to beat myself up about something again, it'll have to be after we get back to Allied space. Prepare for departure, everyone--we're shipping out as soon as I finish one last piece of business."

***

Yissiv was disappointed, but undaunted. "You're assured of your determination?"

"I'm sorry, Alanor," Kreighen admitted as they strolled through the _Styark'nboe_. "It's the opportunity of a millennium, exploring a new galaxy, and I can't say I have anything better to look forward to. But I'm committed to the path I'm on."

"In veracity," she replied, "I was more alluding to the potential of our erotic intermingling."

He stifled a belly laugh, and resolved to have Ijhel take a look a the universal translators when he returned to the ship. "That...might have been nice," he told Yissiv. "I understand how you feel--the life of a commanding officer is a lonely one."

She knew he had more to say. "Howbeit..."

"'Howbeit'...even if I agreed to join your mission, I don't know that I could be the companion you want. It's like I told you last night..."

She nodded; there was no need for a reminder. "Inform me, Jake. You and your Lieutenant Tirava...you have not..."

He anticipated the question, and hoped to avoid another embarrassing translation. "Not since that first night," he confessed. "I have to regain her trust--I guess I have it as her commander, but not...not like that. Not yet."

"Irregular," Yissiv remarked. "How can you tolerate your monogyny, inasmuch as your coupling is so devastated?"

"It doesn't matter if it's convenient for me," Kreighen tried to explain. "I love her. For humans, anything else is irrelevant."


End file.
